Harry Potter and the Phoenix' Ash
by dress without sleeves
Summary: Harry's year in three words: a little stressful. He has to deal with romance between his two best friends, sort out some series issues with Ginny, decode Dumbledore's last message, hunt Horcruxes, avoid Death Eaters, and oh! He also has to save the world.
1. The Exodus

**Author's Notes:** Well, you all know me. I get these little whims and have to run with them.

So, I may or may not finish this story. I guess it all depends on you lot, doesn't it? Flattery and/or pestering gets you everywhere.

Anyhoo, beta'd by **James Milamber**, who has recently moved over to Wizard Tales (. net). He's an all right chap, push come to shove.

Enjoy!

Harry Potter and the Phoenix' Ash

**Chapter One – Comings and Goings**

The yellow moon was hidden behind rain-laden clouds that swirled and stretched effortlessly through the night sky. Its light seemed to flicker as it pressed against the atmosphere; patches of light wrapped around tree branches and blades of grass.

A soft breeze floated across the yard, bowing and leaping in a strange ballet. The trees swayed in applause, twisting from their positions to get a better look as the wind pirouetted and lifted to its toes.

A light streamed softly, silently, across the skyline, meandering around trees and ducking behind houses. It was late – 11:45, to be exact. Ron and Hermione, approaching on Ron's broom, had been told to come at nighttime, when they couldn't be seen by any of the neighbors. If one strained hard enough – which was not very hard at all – one could hear the passenger's soft whispers.

"Ron! Look out!"

"Will you stop _pestering_ me? You're making it hard to concentrate!"

"You're a Quidditch player – you shouldn't need to concentrate on flying! It should just come naturally!"

"Yeah, well, it's a bit more _difficult_ with two people, Hermione, so why don't you just – "

"_Ron_! Look!"

"I see that, Hermione, it's a house – "

"Not the _house_, Ron, the – "

_Crash!_

There was a dead silence, in which both Ron and Hermione lay as still as they could, eyes squeezed shut, praying that no one had heard them. After several minutes of quiet, Hermione hissed, "The _tree_, you imbecile!"

Ron rolled his eyes at her, inspecting his broom carefully for any damage. "Look at what you almost did to my broom!"

Hermione groaned despairingly at her friend, swatting his shoulder. "Never mind your stupid _broom_, we could have woken one of the Muggles! How on Earth would we have explained – "

"Ron? Hermione?" The pair fell silent at the amused voice of Harry Potter. His hair was mussed and his glasses skewed, but he was smiling widely. Ron clambered to his feet, grinning, and gave Harry a quick hug as Hermione pecked his cheek and began busily to dust herself off, embarrassed. "That was quite a landing," Harry complimented, grinning.

Ron rolled his eyes, lightly punching Harry's shoulder. "Shut up, mate," he laughed good-naturedly. "It was all her fault, anyway," he added, jabbing his thumb at Hermione. "Bloody back-broom driver, she is."

"You're a twat," Hermione snapped, before turning to Harry and smiling. "It's good to see you, Harry."

The green-eyed boy laughed, shaking his head at his friends and then nodded at the house, slinging his arm around Hermione's shoulder. "Let's get on inside. It's nearly midnight – if we want an early start we'll have to get some sleep."

Ron arched an eyebrow at his friend, shoving his hands into his pocket and pulling out a handful of highly suspicious-looking objects. "Are you daft?" He asked cheerfully. "It's your last night with the Dursleys … you want to leave your mark, don't you?"

Upon closer inspection, Harry saw that Ron was holding some of Fred and George's new inventions: toffees that caused the two nearest humans to switch bodies. He met Ron's eyes with a manic grin. "Boys," Hermione warned, "you can't _possibly_ be thinking of – "

"Of course not," Ron interjected smoothly. "We wouldn't _dream_ of it, would we, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, raising his hands in surrender. "Never," he promised. Hermione rolled her eyes exasperatedly.

"Men," she muttered, and began collecting her things. Ron, however, placed a gentle hand on her arm. She looked up, startled, and he shook his head slightly. Hermione's eyes widened and she blushed, slightly, immediately dropping the bags in her hand.

Harry frowned. "What?" He asked. "Aren't you coming inside?"

Ron nodded, but sat back down, leaning against the tree and tucking his hands behind his head. "Eventually," he said with a shrug. "But we thought we'd Apparate in."

"Okay," Harry agreed slowly, "So … why don't you?"

Hermione took a seat beside Ron and then patted the ground beside her. "Well, we've still got – " she checked her watch, "Half an hour, don't we?"

"Until what?"

Ron grinned. "Until your birthday."

Harry paused, not understanding at first. Then it slowly dawned on him, as he sat on the cold grass, what his friends were saying. A smile blossomed across his face and it was all he could do not to grab Hermione and squeeze her to death. "Until I can do magic outside of school, you mean," he said softly, unable to keep from smiling.

"Ron thought that it would be nice to do it together, you know?" Hermione told him, smiling.

The man in question blushed, shrugging. "Hermione gave me the idea, I just – solidified it."

Harry grinned affectionately as he teased, "Ooooh, solidify. That's an excellent word – can you spell it?"

Ron faked indignation as Hermione laughed, and he retorted, "It only seems like a big word to pea-brains like you."

"Excellent comeback," Harry complimented as he gave a mocking salute. "Right up there with, 'you're a twat'." Hermione rolled her eyes, smiling and shaking her head.

Things continued much like this for the next twenty-nine minutes; banter flipped back and forth between Harry and Ron, with Hermione acting as a sort of referee, until she finally threw her hands in the air. "Amusing as this all is, don't you think we'd better go inside – before one of you dolts wakes up the neighbors?"

Ron and Harry sobered almost immediately, the prospect of having to deal with the Dursley's wrath not appealing to either. Hermione jiggled her wrist until the watch fell off, and held it out for both boys to see. "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…"

She glanced up at Harry, gave his hand a squeeze, and whispered, "One."

Harry stood for a moment, almost as though he expected something momentous to happen. But time marches on, even for people of his stature, in and sixty seconds it was 12:01. "Shall we?"

Despite a little grumbling on Ron's part, the three shut their eyes and Apparated into the house.

---

Harry was awoken by someone shaking him roughly. He peeled his eyes open slowly to find Petunia Dursley standing over him, her lips pursed. "Get up," she ordered quietly. Mindlessly he obliged, following her from the room and down the stairs. Once they were a safe distance from the rest of the household, she pointed to the living room couch and demanded, "Sit."

He sat.

Petunia was silent for several minutes before turning away from him, sucking in a deep breath. "You're leaving today."

Harry nodded. "Yeah."

She nodded, as though to herself. "You have somewhere to go?" She asked stiffly, turning back to face him.

"I'm going to Ron's house," he told her carefully. "I'll probably stay there for a while before – " he broke off. She didn't want to know, and he didn't really want to tell her. "school," he finished.

"Good," she said in a clipped tone, nodding. There was a pause, and then she added, "The phoenix rises from the ashes." Harry blinked, bewildered. "That's what that awful old headmaster of yours wanted me to tell you. The phoenix rises from the ashes."

Harry nodded, although his heart constricted at the thought of Dumbledore, bewildered at both the message and his aunt's strange behavior. "All right – well – thank you."

She watched with a helpless look in her eyes as he stood. "Harry!" She burst out. He paused, turning to look at me. "I have something for you." Her words were forced.

Petunia scurried into the kitchen. Harry heard her opening and shutting cupboards and it was several minutes before she returned, a small box in her hand. She shoved it at him and nodded once, to herself.

He wasn't sure what to do, at first – if he should thank her, or simply walk away. But before he could do anything, she'd lifted a hand to her eye. He frowned, backing up a little. To his great surprise, she let out a small, bitter laugh as she removed her hands from her face and raised her eyes to his.

Harry was hit so hard by shock that he nearly fell over. Because staring at him from his aunt's gaunt face were his eyes.

His mother's eyes.

Petunia smiled bitterly. "They were my eyes first," she told him. "Be gone by nine – you can make your own breakfast." She tucked her contacts into her apron. "Don't tell Vernon," she added sharply.

Harry nodded, walking up the stairs in a daze. He couldn't quite grasp what had happened.

_Petunia has the same eyes as he did. As his mother did._

_Why did she keep it hidden?_

_Why was she showing me now?_

"Harry?" Hermione was sitting up in bed, looking worriedly at him. "Are you all right? What did she want?"

But he couldn't tell her, for reasons he didn't quite understand. It was a sort of peace offering, he thought. After all those years. A secret between the two of them, a gift – an understanding.

"She said she wanted us gone by nine," he said instead, shrugging. "And she gave me this." He tucked the box into his trunk. There would be time for looking at whatever was inside later. Right now, he just wanted to get out of Number Four.

Hermione shot him a glance as if to tell him that she knew he was lying, but said nothing. "All right," she replied with a shrug. "I'm going to shower and change. You wake Ron."

---

Breakfast was a relatively light affair – Petunia had allowed them one bowl of cereal each. The trio had the house to themselves; the Dursleys had left earlier to go see Vernon's parents for the weekend.

Harry and Ron were discussing how best to slip the toffees into the Dursleys' food. "Put it in the cereal boxes," Harry suggested. "Dudley'll probably think it's some sort of prize."

Ron nodded eagerly. "Sure, but how about your aunt and uncle? No way would they be tricked into eating it after the first one wears off."

"How long do they last?" Harry asked curiously, shoveling a spoonful of Raisin Bran into his mouth.

"Up to six hours," Ron answered, kicking his feet up and resting them on the table. "We could always disguise some of them to look like other things. Like – a banana, or something."

Harry shook his head, "Maybe for Petunia, but Uncle Vernon and Dudders seem to have a deadly vendetta against all fruit."

"And vegetables," Hermione added dryly, "And anything else that's healthy and won't contribute to their ghastly size." Both boys blinked at her, jaws slack. She rolled her eyes, primly straightening her skirt. "Just because I usually refrain from commenting doesn't mean I don't notice these things," she told them. "And anyway, after years of mistreating Harry, I should think they deserve a little bit of comeuppance."

Ron beamed proudly at the bushy-haired girl. "Knew you had it in you, old girl," he congratulated, patting her on the back. "Rise up from your chains and all that."

His words sparked Harry's memory, and he started. "Rise up!" He cried. Ron and Hermione shared a glance, as though unsure if Harry was trying to contribute to the joke (and failing), or if he'd suddenly gone mad. He laughed, rolling his eyes at them, and elaborated, "You reminded me, Ron. Petunia told me that Dumbledore wanted her to pass this message on to me: the phoenix rises from the ashes."

Hermione's eyes lit, gleefully realizing that they now had a clue – or perhaps a puzzle. "The phoenix rises from the ashes…" she repeated slowly. "Well, in an exterior context it makes sense, but it's meaningless. Phoenixes are, after all, reborn from ash. But why would he want you to know that, Harry?"

He shook his head helplessly, shrugging. "I don't know. I can't remember anything he said to me before that might give me a clue."

"He could have just been talking about Phoenixes," Ron pointed out, draining his bowl of remaining milk and cereal. "Maybe he was talking about Fawkes."

Hermione shook her head. "Well, if he was, it doesn't really help us. Fawkes flew off after the funeral, remember? No one's seen him since. McGonagall thinks that the only reason he stayed at Hogwarts was because of Dumbledore, and now that he's … " she trailed off, looking away.

Ron placed a hand on her shoulder as Harry stacked their bowls, clearing them away into the kitchen. He paused in the doorway, glancing at his friends. Ron was holding Hermione's hand comfortingly as she sniffed, dangerously close to tears.

"It's not that I haven't accepted it," she was saying softly, "It's just that sometimes I'll say something, or think something, and it all comes rushing back, as though I've only just heard."

He nodded, giving her a gentle hug. "It's all right to be sad, you know. He was like a grandfather to must of us."

"Or at least an eccentric uncle," Harry added dryly, re-entering the dining room. Hermione laughed wetly and then stood, brushing her hand over her eyes.

"Sorry," she apologized. "I know you two hate it when I get teary like that."

"No," Ron corrected with a light grin as they started up the stairs, "We hate it when you get teary over something stupid – like homework, or Crookshanks, or a near-death experience."

"Oh, please," Hermione told him, rolling her eyes. "I never cry over near-death experiences. That would just be silly."

Harry shrunk his trunk and tucked it into his pocket, leaning idly against the doorframe of his bedroom as Hermione went to the bathroom to freshen up and Ron slipped Fred and George's One-Touch Toffee's into the Dursley's food cupboards.

It seemed impossible, that this room was the same. His mattress was still barely more than linen on top of sagging springs, his blanket ripped and full of holes. The cupboards were stuffed with old toys of Dudley's, and his closet door still hung on a single hinge. His door still had the little cat-flap where the Dursleys would slip food, and if he looked close enough at the window he could see the slots where the bars used to be.

He thought of how to say goodbye to this room – it didn't feel like home, exactly, and yet he'd suffered a great deal here, and the room clung to him. His eyes roamed over the walls – bare, now. He'd packed all his things. If someone were to come into this room, they'd never know Harry Potter had ever lived there.

And yet he _had_, and Harry was almost … frightened to think that he could be forgotten so easily.

"Ready?" Hermione's voice was soft as she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turned to her, forcing a tiny smile. "It'll be all right, you know," she told him, stepping back so that he could go in front of her. "This wasn't your home, anyway."

Harry smiled. "No," he agreed. "It wasn't."


	2. The Burrow

**Author's Notes:** Hey, a second chapter! And so soon, too! Aren't you proud of me? –puffs out chest proudly-

This story's been fun; I've had to wrestle with it a little, but I think it might make it past, say . . . chapter three. We might even get a chapter five.

A bit more serious chapter, I guess. Ginny is being difficult and incredibly hard to write – if one of you could have a little chat with her, maybe convince her to cooperate? That would be fantastic. Harry's been a jerk in the Ginny department, too. You'd swear they were desperate to get back together. –sigh–

Anyhoo, enjoy!

**Chapter Two – The Burrow, The Password, and Ginny**

It wasn't much later that they arrived on the steps of the Burrow. Hermione has insisted on Apparating to the front stoop. "It's more polite," she'd insisted. (Nevermind that the Burrow was so heavily warded that they couldn't have Apparated inside, anyway.)

They straightened their clothing (or rather, Hermione straightened hers and shot death glares at the boys until they half-heartedly followed suit) and then Hermione knocked three times on the door. "It's us!" She cried.

"What's the password?"

She groaned at Fred Weasley's voice and pleaded, "Fred, please. You know it's us, you can _see_ us through the peephole!"

"Yeah," Fred countered cheerfully, "But how do I know you're you and not some Death Eater disguised as you?"

"Or vice versa," his twin piped up from behind the door.

Hermione frowned. "Why would we disguise ourselves as Death Eaters?" She asked, bewildered.

"Exactly," Fred confirmed, as though she had somehow proved a point. "So, what's the password?"

She crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips. "I'm not going to say it," she told the twins crossly. "I don't care if I'm stuck out here for the rest of the summer."

Harry quirked an eyebrow, turning to Ron. "What is it?" He mouthed over the bushy-haired girl's head.

The redhead grinned roguishly. "'I want to shag you'," he mouthed back. Harry snickered, watching with glee as Hermione turned bright red.

"Come on, Girl-Who-May-Or-May-Not-Be-Hermione. It's the password or you're going to be out there for a wicked long time. Might even miss the wedding."

She shook her head defiantly. "Then so be it," she snapped. "I am not going to participate in your vulgar little games."

There was silence on the other end, and for a moment it seemed that they were going to let her in. "Well, we know it's you now," George (or at least, Harry_ thought_ it was George) said cheerfully.

"No one but Hermione would make a comment like that," his twin added. "But we're still going to make you say it."

Hermione was seething. "You can't do that!" she cried, stamping her foot.

"It _is_ rather underhanded," one of the twins agreed.

"But I think you'll find we often engage in underhanded tactics, simply because we're on this side of the door, and you're on that side of the door – "

"So we rather have an advantage."

"It's going to be a long summer, out there on that stoop," Fred quipped.

"Mmm. I'm hungry. What about you, Fred? Mum's got some lovely pies in the kitchen. Too bad _you_ can't have any, Hermione."

"You're really missing out, mate. It's quite delicious. Well, I think I'll go have a lie-down on my nice mattress. The grass is quite soft, Hermione, if you wanted to sleep. A bit wet, of course," George added.

Harry grinned at his friend. "I'd love one of those pies, 'Mione," he prodded, smirking as she turned to glare at him.

"Traitor," she muttered. "Fred. George. _Please_ don't make me say it."

"Well, we can't _make_ you do anything," George allowed.

"But unless you'd like to come inside, you'll probably want to," Fred added cheerfully. "But hey, if you find that you're comfortable where you are … "

There were sniggers behind the door, and Hermione's lips pursed tighter than Harry knew was possible. "Fine!" She burst after minutes of silence. "I want to shag you!"

The door swung open to guffaws, and Hermione found herself staring at the roomful of Weasleys, all laughing. She turned redder than Ron's hair. Beside them, Fred laughed, "Well, not _now_, Hermione, at least wait till we don't have an audience!"

She clenched her fists at her sides, shut her eyes, and took several calming breaths. "I am better than them, those mangy, stupid, vulgar ignoramuses," she muttered under her breath. "I won't stoop to their level." This seemed to appease her a bit, and she smiled tightly. "Hullo, all."

Molly Weasley trundled out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and sweeping Ron into a hug. "Welcome home!" She chirped, dropping her son and distributing hugs to both Harry and Hermione. "How was the trip?"

"Fine," Harry offered.

"Great," Ron added.

"Good," Hermione piped up. Molly nodded happily and gestured towards the stairs.

"Ginny's up in her room," she told them, pointedly _not_ looking at Harry. "She's cleaning – Fleur's family is going to be here in a few days, and I want the room to be reasonable."

Harry and Hermione frowned, apparently confused, but Ron explained, "It usually takes her a few days to get anything done up there. Best to start her early instead of leaving it for the day of."

Hermione grinned, and Harry's heart did a jump-start. He'd been putting Ginny out of his head for the past month, not allowing any thoughts of her to permeate the gaggle of pictures and memories he had stowed away.

It was for the best, he told himself.

"Well," Hermione told them cheerfully, "Why don't we go say hullo? I'm sure she'd be glad for the company."

Harry's throat tightened. Ron was glaring pointedly at Hermione, but she easily ignored him. "Come _on_, you two. What are you waiting for?" She grabbed Harry's hand and began to drag him up the stairs.

"Uh – Hermione – I don't think this is the best – "

"_Himerone_!" Hermione dropped his hand as Ginny appeared at the top of the steps. They flung their arms around each other, both happy for the prospect of a female who wasn't fifty years older (or an insufferable half-Veela). Once they'd pulled apart, Ginny grinned at both Ron and Harry.

He was shocked to find that his heart constricted painfully, and that he was as attracted to her now as he had been at the end of the year. He'd thought that, somehow, things would have … lessoned, over the summer. That the time apart would have brought him some sort of closure.

It hadn't.

"Hiya Ron, Harry." She gave them both a hug and a peck on the cheek before turning back to Hermione. "I'm just cleaning … Fleur wants Gabrielle to stay with me – sister-sister bonding or some such rubbish – so I guess the three of us will have to figure out how we're going to be sleeping for the summer."

Hermione looked momentarily guilty before masking it and nodding. "Sure thing," she promised. "I don't mind sleeping on the floor."

"Er, I hate to interrupt," Ron put in, "But – my arms are starting to hurt." Hermione broke off, surprised, and then seemed to notice that Harry and Ron were still lugging around all the baggage. She blushed prettily.

"Right. Sorry. Where should I put my things, Ginny?" Harry followed the girls in a sort of daze, determinedly looking everywhere but at the person in front of him. He kept his eyes trained on the floor, knowing that if he looked up his gaze would _not_ be focused on a place that he'd be entirely comfortable telling Mrs. Weasley about.

He stopped in Ron's room, although Ron himself had to carry Hermione's things all the way to Ginny's room, and sat dejectedly on his bed.

_I still fancy her_.

It was painfully obvious, in the way the monster in his chest had purred at the sight of her face and wanted to claw is own eyes out as she'd easily ignored his presence.

She had him in knots, and yet was completely unaffected by him.

_Maybe_, Harry thought nastily, _she didn't see past the scar after all. Maybe she's just another Romilda Vane._

But comparing her to Romilda Vane seemed unquestionably cruel, and he contritely took it back. _More like Lavender Brown_, he decided, trying to be both kind and nasty at the same time.

Harry groaned, rolling onto his stomach and punching his pillow. _I hate hormones_. He thought about that, about the nice way his stomach seemed to slosh around when she laughed, and the way it felt to kiss her. _No, I like hormones. I hate Voldemort_.

It seemed completely unfair that he shouldn't be able to have a girlfriend, just because there was an evil overlord after his head. He fancied the freckles right off of that girl, and the only thing between them was six feet tall with red eyes.

That wasn't so terrible, was it?

_Stop it_, he ordered himself. _Get a hold of yourself_.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice was soft. "Harry – are you all right?" He didn't answer, keeping his face buried in the pillow. He really didn't want to talk to Hermione right now, or Ron, or anyone. All he wanted to do was lie in bed and sulk.

Sulking sounded like an excellent plan.

"I know you're not sleeping, Harry."

But he kept his eyes screwed up tight and didn't move. Eventually, Hermione sighed and gave up, shutting Ron's door as quietly as she could. "He's not feeling very well," he heard her say to someone in the hallway. "It's probably exhaustion. I'm sure he'll be better by this afternoon."

---

Around one, he forced himself to get out of bed. It wasn't going to do anyone any good to remain moping about. He'd done what he had for a reason, and he held to that. It was for the best all around.

He straightened his shirt and ran a hand through his hair, tugging open the door and walking through the house to the living room. Ron and Hermione were playing chess, and Ginny was curled up on the couch reading a book.

From the loud explosions coming from their room, Harry guessed that Fred and George were occupied with "work".

"Harry!" Ginny beamed up at him from the couch. "How are you feeling? Better? Hermione said you were probably just tired."

"That must have been it," he said, a bit colder than he'd meant to, sitting as far away from her as he could. She glanced at him, momentarily stung, before smiling once more and sticking her nose back in the book. "How long did I sleep for?"

"About three hours," Hermione said distractedly, not looking at him. "I came to check on you, but you were sleeping." At this, she _did_ look at him, her gaze calculating. He shrugged.

"Well, Fleur and Bill will probably be back from shopping soon," Ginny commented, rolling her eyes. "Everyzing must be perfect for ze wedding." Ron and Hermione laughed, but all Harry could manage was a strained smile. "The worst part is that she keeps trying to set me up with her second cousin, or something," she added, rolling her eyes. "His name is … Hendrik De…something."

Hermione glanced up sharply, and Ron nearly dropped his chess piece. Harry clenched his fists but said nothing. "That's nice, Ginny," Hermione said in a voice that clearly dictated _drop-it_.

"Just making conversation," she grumbled, although clearly knew she'd stepped over a line somewhere. There was a stiff silence, and she sighed. "I'm going to go find Mum. She probably needs help with … something."

Hermione watched her go and then immediately stood. "Listen, tomorrow morning Mrs. Weasley is taking Fleur shopping for her wedding dress – "

"Wait," Ron interrupted. "Isn't that what she's doing right now with Bill?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Finding your wedding dress takes a long time, Ron, not just one trip. But that's not what I want you to focus on," she continued as he opened his mouth to reply. "The point is, I'm going to go with her and peruse Flourish and Blott's to get something on Phoenixes and their rebirthing rituals."

Harry nodded eagerly. "Brilliant – "

"You're both dense," Ron interrupted, glaring down at his chess pieces and finally moving his rook. "Dumbledore wasn't talking about literal phoenixes. He was talking hypothetically. You know, how when everything to seems to be going to the blazes, hope is reborn and all that rot. He was just telling us not to give up."

"Then why wouldn't he have just said that?" Harry asked, furrowing his brow.

"It's _Dumbledore_, mate," Ron said with a shrug, as though that explained everything. And, Harry supposed, it did. "I'm hungry," Ron said after a few moments of quiet. "Does anyone want anything?"

Hermione stood, knocking over her king in disgust. "I'll help," she told him. "I'm tired of chess."

"Tired of losing, you mean," he quipped as he followed her into the kitchen. Harry leaned back against the couch, his mind running over Dumbledore's words.

"Harry! Where are Ron and Hermione?" He cracked an eye open to see Ginny standing above him, her hair glinting in the light. Before he could reply, she continued, "Mum sent me back in here to make sure you three were going to get lunch. From the sounds of it, Ron's handling it," she grinned dryly at him.

He nodded once, sharply. "Sounds like it," he told her stiffly.

She frowned at him, her features sagging all at once. "Is there something you'd like to say to me, Harry?" She asked quietly.

The air seemed to crackle and spark between them. He opened his mouth – _No, of course not._ – but was cut off by a loud exclamation of, "'Arry!"

The moment was gone, and the air stilled.

Ginny shut her eyes, briefly, and then smiled ruefully at him as Fleur pressed her lips to his cheek. "Welcome home, Fleur," she muttered, sounding pained. "How did the trip go? Did you find anything?"

"Of course not," Fleur exclaimed, as though the very idea was laughable. "Tomorrow, per'aps. Maybe you would like to come with me, Ginny? You 'ave to be fitted in time to make adjustments on ze bridesmaid dresses…"

"Sounds brilliant," she declared dully. "I can't wait, Fleur."

The half-Veela moved off, dragging her fiancée ("Hullo, Har – oof! All right, all right, woman, where are we going so fast?") with her. Harry contemplated bringing up the subject of what was going on between them, but the moment wasn't right. Ginny wasn't looking at him anymore, but instead getting off the couch and moving towards the kitchen.

"Would you like a sandwich?" She called over her shoulder.

"No, thanks. Not hungry," he replied.

And, just like that, she was gone.


	3. The Gift

**Author's Notes:** Yay for chapter three! Aren't you all proud of me? I'm actually three chapters into a "real" fic! This definitely calls for celebration.

Beta'd by the fantabulous **Opalish**, who apparently enjoys the word "yo" the way normal people enjoy chocolate cake.

Anyhoo, hope you enjoy! I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but I'm sick of fighting with it.

Reviews are greatly appreciated, as are promises to do my Maths homework.

**Chapter Three – Goodnight, My Baby, Goodnight**

To say that the past week had been unbearable, Harry thought, would be the understatement of the century.

He and Ron were in Ron's room, hiding from Mrs. Weasley. She'd wanted them to help set up for the wedding, but both boys had opted to avoid manual labor and instead try to spend their last few days at the Burrow enjoying themselves.

Ron idly flicked a piece of lint from his sweater. "I can't wait until this wedding is over," he groaned, flopping back onto his bed. "It's been a bloody nightmare."

Harry nodded enthusiastically. "Why couldn't they have eloped?" He commiserated, running a hand through his hair and slumping. "It would have saved us so much trouble."

"Not to mention the vast amounts of Frenchmen with unpronounceable last names that seem to be overrunning my house," Ron agreed miserably. "I never realized just how much I hated dress robes until I had to go to fittings."

Harry shuddered at the memory, wincing as though he could still feel the salesgirl at Madam Malkin's and her pins "They shouldn't be allowed to … _poke_ me in … well – _down there_," he insisted firmly, crossing his arms over his chest as though proving a point.

"Yeah," Ron agreed with a little smirk. "And you had that creepy old woman staring at your arse the whole time." Harry made a face at the memory. "You should have gotten her fireplace coordinates, mate. She was a real looker."

As Harry opened his mouth to retort – or to throw up, whichever came out first – Ron's door swung open. Hermione was standing in the doorway, four bags filled with books dangling off her arms. She was panting heavily as she kicked the door shut. "A little help here?" She managed. "I think my arms are about to fall off."

Ron scrambled to his feet to assist her, although Harry was considerably slower. The boys tossed the books onto the bed – much to Hermione's chagrin, as they weren't particularly careful – and then waited expectantly for her to explain. She stood silent, however, clearly agitated.

"I don't think these will help us at all," she blurted finally. "At least, not with – not with the locket."

Ron blinked. "What?" He cried. "Then what the bloody hell did you buy them for?"

"Light reading," she told him sarcastically, bristling. "Of course I bought them to help us! But listen, there's something I thought of in Flourish and Blotts and I can't seem to get it out of my head." She chewed her lip thoughtfully as the boys waited, impatient, for her to finish.

After several minutes, Ron prompted, "And that was . . . ?"

She seemed startled by his voice and blushed, clearly having lost herself in her thoughts. "Oh! Right. Well . . . it's only, these books won't tell us who R.A.B. is, will they? I bought several with the family trees of Pureblood families, but . . . I think the best and easiest way to determine who took the locket would be to look through the Hogwarts student lists."

Harry frowned. "But – what if he didn't go to Hogwarts?"

"Then he or she won't be on the list," Hermione said, shrugging. "And if that's the case, then we've narrowed it down by hundreds of families."

Ron looked pensive as he pointed out, "Sure – but, Hermione . . . we don't know that this guy was a Pureblood, and even if he was there's got to be thousands of blokes out there with the initials 'R.A.B.'"

"Well, we know it wasn't a Muggleborn," Harry pitched in, "And if it's a Halfblood then he or she would have to come from a very prominent, or at least very prejudiced, Pureblood family."

Hermione nodded, her expression suddenly falling. "The problem is that I don't know how we can access them," she admitted with a sigh. "Traditionally student lists are locked in the Headmaster or –mistress' office, but now that Dumbledore's gone . . . "

"We could just . . . ask," Harry suggested, although his voice sounded pathetic to his own ears.

Ron snorted. "Yeah – _that _would go over well. I can see it now. 'Oi, McGonagall. Fancy letting us take a look-see at those Hogwarts Student Lists?' 'Whatever for, Mr. Weasley?' 'Oh, you know. Thought we'd go hunt You-Know-Who's soul and then kill him, if that's all right with you.' 'What a wonderful idea! Here they are! Oh, and ten points for Gryffindor.'"

Hermione sighed, defeated. "I suppose we could just – take them," she said sarcastically. "That seems to be the only way to get things done around here."

Harry smiled dryly at her, but Ron was suddenly grinning. "Hermione, you're brilliant!" His friends frowned, clearly confused, so he elaborated, "Mum said that there was going to be a service for Dumbledore, a sort of … final goodbye, not long after the wedding. If we go, we can sneak off and get them then."

Hermione frowned, but it was obvious that the wheels in her head were turning. "This is . . . so many . . . and it's . . . but then . . . it could be . . . yes! It is." She looked up at the boys, a hint of a smile on her lips. "Maybe Ron's right – maybe it _is _the only way."

Harry shrugged, although surprised that Hermione had given in so easily. War did that to people, he supposed. "I'm up for it," he told them with a shrug.

Ron was frowning slightly, studying Hermione. "Who are you and what have you done with Hermione?" He demanded finally, his voice laced with derision.

She frowned. "What?"

"You're the one who gets her panties – "

"Ron," Harry choked, blushing, "Please don't say 'panties'."

" – in a bunch when we want to cheat on a homework, and now you're consenting to breaking into _Dumbledore's office_ to _steal_."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, "Well, this is for the greater good. We're trying to defeat _Voldemort_, in case you've forgotten, Ron, and if the only way to do that is to engage in some underhanded tactics, well, so be it."

Harry thought, quite suddenly, that if he knew Hermione until he was four hundred and seventy (if he lived that long; at this rate, he probably wouldn't make it to twenty), she'd always be able to surprise him.

Before anyone could say anything else, however, Ron sniggered. Harry and Hermione turned to him, frowning. "I was just thinking," Ron informed them with a smirk, "Didn't Dumbledore have a Pensieve?"

Hermione nodded, cocking her head. "So what?"

"Well, he probably needed room in his head for all the important things, like Horcruxes and such, so I wonder if he used it for . . . bedroom . . . conquests?"

Hermione turned bright red, and she began whacking Ron over the head with the nearest book. "Ron! That's foul!"

"Old people need their fun, too," he informed her, ducking as the book clapped onto his shoulder.

"Ugh!"

But Harry's mind was reeling, as though Ron had flicked on some sort of a switch. "Wait," he said aloud, "I think you may have hit on something."

Ron made a face. "Harry, I think you've had old ladies staring at your arse for too long – "

"Not about that," Harry interrupted impatiently. "I mean about him using the Pensieve for things like the Horcruxes." By this point Hermione had caught on, and her eyes were glittering excitedly. The book was limp in her hand, her previous beating of Ron forgotten.

"Harry, that's brilliant!" She cried. "Of course he would have wanted to really _study_ his memories, and what better way to do that then empty them into a Pensieve and watch them as many times as you want? And maybe he left behind something we can use!"

She gave Ron a huge kiss on his cheek, practically bouncing with excitement. "Ron, you're a _genius_!"

He blushed redder than his hair. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered, discreetly touching his hand to his cheek.

Hermione frowned. "Hey – are you wiping that off?"

Ron grinned at her. "Nah. Just . . . spreading it around a bit."

---

The day of Bill and Fleur's wedding dawned slowly. Harry watched from the kitchen table as the sun crept towards the moon, fingers reaching out as though to wraps around the stars. It was silent, except for the quiet chirping of birds and the occasional owl. There was no breeze, and a breathtaking stillness had long since settled over the entire house.

"Harry?" He turned at the voice, startled. Ginny was standing in the doorway, clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants. "What are you doing up?" He shrugged, looking away from her. She padded over to wear he was and sat next to him, drawing designs on the table with her finger. "Looking forward the wedding?" She asked awkwardly.

He glanced at her. "Sure."

She looked up at him, slightly stung. He looked away, not wanting to look over and see her wide eyes and start to feel sorry. He needed to push her away, push her as far as he could because otherwise … he didn't know where his feelings for her would go, or how deep they were, and he didn't want to know. Not if it meant putting her in danger.

"Are you hungry?" She tried again. He shook his head, and they sat there in silence for a little while longer before she burst out, as though no longer able to contain it, "You're a right arse, you know that?"

He turned to her, startled. "Well, you are," she snapped, standing up and stalking over to the cupboard. She yanked the door open and reached for a mug, her hand falling a good five inches short. She stretched as high as she could but managed only to cut off two inches or so. "Buggering bloody hell!" She swore furiously, looking very much like she wanted to hex the shelves into next year. "Well?" She finally asked, turning to face him. "Aren't you going to help me?"

Harry arched an eyebrow at her. "You just called me an arse," he pointed out.

"You are an arse," she answered immediately. "So why don't you try and fix that by getting me the damn mug!"

He shook his head and idly flicked his wand. A mug began to lower itself towards the counter, but Ginny snatched it from the air before it had the chance to get there. She made her tea silently, and Harry focused once more on watching the sun trickle through the mountains and onto the lawn.

She sat down beside him again, and sat for a few minutes, just quietly stirring her tea. "I know what you're doing, Harry Potter," she told him after a few moments, her voice controlled in a way it hadn't been before. "And you'd better be careful or it just might work."

With that, she calmly stood, tossed her spoon into the sink, and left.

---

In fifteen minutes, Fleur Delacour was supposed to walk down the aisle and become Fleur Weasley. The problem was that the Joining Wizard who was supposed to perform the ceremony had gone missing that morning – a harsh reminder that the world outside was still raging, despite the respite that had seemed to come over the past few weeks – and no one was entirely sure what to do.

Mrs. Weasley was sobbing, frantically tearing through the house as though the Joining Wizard would pop out of a closet and confess that it was all just a practical joke. "We can't have a wedding without someone to join them!" She yelped. "Oh, oh! What am I supposed to do?"

Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were in the living room, dressed for the wedding but unsure if they'd even have one. Ginny, Harry noticed, looked quite pretty in her yellow dress (although he was sure that he'd find her attractive in a potato sack and trainers). Her hair was curled lightly. Hermione was in a very pretty sundress, her normally bushy hair glossy and wavy instead of a harsh curl. He and Ron wore new dress robes (courtesy, on Ron's part, of Fred and George).

"If he were here, Percy could do it," Hermione said, almost idly, as though she didn't realize she was talking aloud.

Instantly, the low murmur that had filled the room dropped.

Mrs. Weasley was suddenly in front of them, come out of nowhere. "What was that?" She asked in a voice that can only be described as 'hysterical'.

Hermione winced, glancing around as though for an escape route before clarifying, in a resigned voice, "He's high up enough on the Ministry food chain that he's probably got the right certification. He doesn't have to do anything big, just ask for their vows and pronounce them married."

There was a very long, very pregnant silence. Finally, someone with a heavy French accent shouted, "Letz get zis over wiz!"

"Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley finally asked, turning to her husband.

He shrugged. "Well, if someone can make him come, I don't see any other choice."

"We'll do it." Harry glanced, surprised, at Fred and George. They were standing on the stairwell, their faces more serious than he had ever seen. Fred smiled grimly. "He'll listen to us, no worries."

"Be careful, boys!" Mrs. Weasley called as they stepped into the fire place. ". . . And be nice!"

They sat in silence for nearly fifteen minutes, waiting for the twins to return. "I'm sorry," Hermione said in a small voice, clearly distressed. "I shouldn't have suggested it."

Ron shook his head, clearly forcing his grin. "Don't be sorry. Someone's got to marry those two – I don't fancy having to wait for a real Joining Wizard and then going through all this again." Hermione smiled gratefully at him, knowing full well what it had cost him to say it.

"I hope someone puts Exploding Snap cards in his robes," Ginny muttered. Harry's lips twitched, but he fought to keep from laughing, knowing full well that she hadn't meant it as a joke. "I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't come, that – "

A commotion in the living room cut her off. There was a brief and heavy silence before Mrs. Weasley burst out, "You came!"

The four friends glanced at each other before clambering to their feet and hurrying into the main room. Sure enough, Percy was standing stiffly in front of the twins, who were both wearing identical (and slightly diabolical) grins. "Did you really think we'd fail you, Mum?" George asked cheerfully.

"I thought you had more confidence in us, woman," Fred added, grimacing as his mother squeezed him tightly. "Well, what are we all standing around for? Isn't there a wedding supposed to be happening?"

Things began in a flurry. Harry was surprised at the coolness between Molly Weasley and her son. Whereas at Christmas last year she had been ecstatic to see him, it seemed more than obvious that she wasn't so pleased this time.

As far as he was concerned, Harry was just happy that the wedding would be over by the end of the day.

The progression began. He was sitting in the audience up front, on the Weasley side. Arthur, Ron, the twins, and Charlie were standing beside Bill as his "best men"; Percy stood in the middle, on a little platform, dressed in his regular Ministry clothing. On the other side were five of Fleur's closest friends. As soft music – music that Harry had never heard before; it wasn't the same progression as in Muggle weddings – began to play, Fleur stepped from the Burrow and onto the carpet that rested above the grass.

She looked stunning in her dress, Harry had to admit.

Ginny and Gabrielle followed closely behind her, holding woven baskets in their hands, and were lightly tossing rose petals. Gabrielle seemed to lap up the attention, while Ginny seemed almost … bored. Harry grinned; wasn't that just like her?

After what seemed like years, the three women finally reached the end of the aisle. As Ginny stepped into place beside Fleur, she surreptitiously glanced over at him.

Unfortunately, he was still studying her, and their eyes met. She quirked her lips slightly, rolling her eyes at Percy, who was practically shaking.

He almost grinned back before realizing what he was doing. He immediately looked away and focused as intensely as he could on Bill. "Fleur," he was saying, his face red, "I love you. I've loved you since the moment you yelled at me for breaking your nail when we first met. I love everything about you –your flaws as well as your perfection. I want to be with you until the end of my life; whether that's four years from now or four hundred. I love you."

Fleur was crying softly, and Harry noted that she was Harry was surprised to find that she was pretty even when she cried. "I l-love you, B-Bill," she managed, sniffing and then giving an embarrassed little laugh. "I've l-loved you s-since before we m-met, when I w-watched you with G-Ginny. She was c-crying – like I am n-now, I g-guess – and you were just h-holding her, like she was the m-most important thing in the w-world. I w-wanted you to h-hold me like th-that, and can't b-believe that I'm finally going to get that ch-chance. I l-love you."

There was a silence, and Percy didn't seem like he knew if he was supposed to speak or not. "Percy, you great prat, marry them!" Charlie hissed from the side.

There was an outbreak of laughter and Percy, blushing, muttered, "By the laws of magic and ministry, I now pronounce you wizard and wife." In the loud applause that followed, Bill took a now-sobbing Fleur into his arms and held her as though she were the most important thing in the world to him.

And, Harry realized, perhaps she was.

---

"Care to dance?" Harry looked up, startled. Gabrielle Delacour was standing in front of him, arm extended. He glanced around, desperate for some escape, but everyone else was on the dance floor. He smiled half-heartedly and allowed her to lead him to the dance floor.

They were both quiet for several minutes. "Are you having fun?" He asked finally, resigning himself to this dance.

"I 'ate ze weazer," Gabrielle told him, scooting in closer, "But I enjoy ze company."

He blinked. Was she … _flirting_ with him? "Er … good," he managed, unsure of what else to say. "Well, you'll have to be here a lot more often, what with Fleur living here and all."

Gabrielle shrugged. "Per'aps I can find other reasons to visit as well. What do you zink, 'Arry?" She murmured, batting her eyelashes.

_This _can't _be legal. _

"Uh … well … that's – uhm …"

A soft laugh saved him from replying. Gabrielle scowled at whoever was behind him but he didn't have to turn to know who it was. "May I cut in, Gabby?" Ginny asked, her voice amused. The half-Veela frowned darkly but shrugged, stepping away from Harry and smiling demurely. "Per'aps we can pick zis up later," she told him flirtatiously, skipping through the crowd.

"Well, Fleur wasn't taking the mickey when she said that Gabrielle fancied you, Harry," Ginny told him, taking his hand and fitting it in hers. He made no move to dance with her and they stood that way for several moments before she took his other hand and lifted it to her waist. "Don't embarrass me, Harry," she hissed.

He sighed, swaying half-heartedly to the music. She seemed appeased, however, and continued gabbing away in that painfully distant way of hers. "Well, this wedding has gone fantastically, hasn't it? Everything was pulled off without a hitch. I have to tell you, I thought for sure I was going to trip on my dress – but I'm sure Mum charmed them so I wouldn't. Honestly, you'd think the woman would have a little more faith … of course, Fleur lathered me in makeup so I'm sure I looked _horrid_ – "

"I thought you looked pretty. Look pretty," Harry interrupted before he could stop himself. He didn't want to give her false hope, but he hated the idea that she thought she looked ugly. "The dress is very … uhm … yellow."

Her eyes twinkled as she smiled at him. "Why thank you, Harry," she answered with a grin. "Your robes are very … black."

He laughed, grinning dryly. "Oi, shut up. Give me credit for trying."

"Are you saying you had to _try_ to find something positive to say about my appearance?" She accused good-naturedly, flicking her hair over her shoulder. He rolled his eyes, knowing that she knew that wasn't what he meant. He realized that he shouldn't be doing this – talking to her so …friendlily– but it felt good to just relax, if even for just a moment.

He smirked at her, teasing, "Don't feel bad, Ginny. Some people are just naturally beautiful and some aren't. Me, for instance, I'm – "

"Full of rubbish," she interrupted easily, her gaze triumphant. "Whereas I'm – "

"Wearing a canary yellow dress layered with more lace than should be legal?" She laughed outright and they spun in a quick circle as the music picked up. He was having fun, more fun that he should have, and yet … _it's only for one song,_ he told himself.

Ginny absently tucked a strand of hair out of her face. "Touché," she allowed, grinning broadly. "Point one for Potter." The lock tumbled back onto her cheek and before Harry knew what he was doing, he'd reached out and was gently pushing it back behind her ear. Ginny froze, her grin fading. They stood like that for several seconds before he realized that his hand was still cupped around her cheek. As though scorched, he leapt away from her until there was several feet between them.

"Ginny – I – "

"It's fine," she interrupted, her voice flat. "Let's just … finish dancing, all right? We don't want everyone to know we're fighting."

He forced a smile. "What fight?" He asked cheerfully, fully aware of how unbearably insensitive it was. But instead of playing his game, Ginny simply looked dully at him before turning away. They stood almost still as the song played out, and as soon as the last note rang they disengaged.

"See you around," she muttered, spinning on her heel and fleeing the dance floor.

---

The party was winding down downstairs. Ron, Harry, and Hermione were in Ron's room, piled on his bed and listening to the slow, aching music come to a close. The soft _pop!_ of people Apparating was barely audible beneath the murmur of voice and motion. Harry gazed at the ceiling, still disconcerted from his dance with Ginny. Hermione had her head on Ron's shoulder and Harry could tell, in the waning light, that the redhead was blushing profusely.

"I can't believe it's almost time to go," Hermione whispered. "Doesn't it seem like you try and you try to hold on to moments like this, but they just . . . ?"

Ron was smiling in an almost sad manner, glancing down at Hermione's hair. "Moments like this," he was saying, almost to himself. "They're hard to come by."

Harry felt, suddenly, like he was invading on some sort of personal moment.

Into the silence, Hermione asked, "So have you opened that box your aunt gave you yet?" Harry blinked, Petunia's gift having been lost to the tumult of his mind over the past few days. He shook his head.

"No, I'd forgotten about it," he answered honestly.

Ron sat up a little straighter. "Well, let's open it now," he suggested eagerly. "Maybe it's something interesting."

Harry shrugged, although a small sense of dread settled in his stomach. Knowing his aunt, anything could be in the box – and if it was something nasty, something cruel, he didn't want Hermione and Ron to see it. He summoned the box from his open trunk and it landed in his lap with a soft _thunk_.

With his heart in his throat, he gently pushed the lid from the box. A piece of paper fluttered to the floor, and Harry pinched it between his thumb and pointer finger. It was his aunt's small, neat handwriting:

_Harry-_

_This was yours. Lily wanted you to have it._

_-Petunia_

Wordlessly, he handed the note to Hermione. She read it aloud and then shook her head in disgust. "What a lovely woman," she muttered sarcastically, shooting a sympathetic glance in Harry's direction (which he studiously ignored).

There was only one item; a small, square blanket. It was patched, although instead of regular fabric the patches were pictures. Harry took a closer look, studying the first picture.

It was his Mum and Dad and – him. He was cradled in his mother's arms, clinging to her neck. James was making faces at him from behind Lily's back, although it was obvious his mum was trying to rock him to sleep. He'd giggle and Lily glanced up at James, exasperated.

Harry blinked, his nose tingling. He moved to the next patch – it was of him and Sirius. The older man was kneeling, Harry placed over his knee as though on a bike of some sort. Sirius jiggled his leg as though the bike was moving. Baby-Harry grinned happily while pretending to steer.

The third patch had him with his mother and the Marauders. They were in front of a small, quaint house, the adults grinning and Baby-Harry smiling happily. He was tucked under his father's arm, gurgling as his father swung him around. Lily and Peter stood by, amused, as Sirius and Remus made faces at James while his back was turned.

The final patch was one of him and his father asleep. Baby-Harry was in the crook of his father's arm, snuggled deep into the James' chest. Both were smiling in their dreams.

As Harry fully unfolded the blanket in order to look at this picture, a soft song rose from its seams. Into the silence of the room a voice that he was sure was his mothers washed over him.

"_Goodnight, my baby, goodnight … sleep, little baby, sleep tight … my pride will keep you safe and warm, my love from harm – from harm … goodnight, my baby, goodnight … _goodnight, Harry."

There was a momentary silence until the tune began again. He sat motionless on the bed, his eyes glued to the picture and hypersensitive to everything about his mother's voice.

Wasn't that funny? It was soft but at the same time Harry got the distinct impression that this was not a woman you messed with. Hear that quiet edge in her voice as she sang "from harm"? She meant it. There was nothing coming between her and her child. _How prophetic._

He felt Hermione's soft hand on his shoulder as she and Ron stood. She ushered the redhead out the door, but he was barely aware of it.

He lay slowly on his bed, clutching the blanket desperately in his hands. _Goodnight, my baby, goodnight … _the ache in his chest began small and then started to grow, widening and expanding as the words wrapped around him, gently prodding him towards sleep … s_leep tight, little baby, sleep tight …_ he squeezed his eyes shut to keep the tears from coming; it was funny, that something so … so _wonderful_ could make him so desperately lonely … _my pride will keep you safe and warm …_ and he wanted his mother, wanted her more badly than he ever had – wanted her and his father and his grandparents and everyone else he had lost … _my love from harm – from harm …_ he felt himself slipping and welcomed sleep; anything to keep from bawling like a baby. _Goodnight, my baby, goodnight … _

_Goodnight, Harry._


	4. The Lists

**Author's Notes:** I'm baaaaack!

Here's this. Sorry for the long wait! It's not very good –slash- beta'd, but I felt bad about leaving you all hanging for so long. I'm not very happy with Ginny in it, but oh well.

I missed you all! –sniff-

Enjoy!

**Chapter Four – Of Lists, Lies, and a Lack of Sleep**

Hogwarts hadn't changed.

Harry found himself almost surprised. So much had happened – part of him felt that if Dumbledore was gone the castle should have gone with him. And yet here it stood, towering over the picnic tables and milling mourners.

He was standing in front of Dumbledore's office, leaning idly against the wall. He was waiting for Ron and Hermione to appear, having slipped off at the very beginning of the service. A small smile graced his lips as his friend's voices slipped around the corner.

"Ow! Hermione, be careful!"

"Oh, stop, I'm barely touching you."

"_Now_ you are – you practically drew blood when you pulled me away from the pasties!"

"Well maybe if you'd been a bit more willing to _follow me_ – "

"You said you were going to the loo!"

"It was a _ruse_, you idiot, so that they wouldn't be suspicious – "

"Sure, because accompanying you to the _loo_ isn't strange … "

They burst around the corner and tromped towards Harry, jaws set as they argued. He rolled his eyes and pulled his wand from his pocket. "Ready?"

Ron made a face. "Sure, but Hermione has to use the _loo_ first." The brown-eyed girl didn't deign to respond, instead pulling her wand out of her pocket and fingering it suggestively in Ron's direction. "Fine, let's get a move on, then."

Harry grinned, shaking his head and turning to the huge door. "Well, this could be a problem," he told them, gazing helplessly at the wall in front of him. "Does anyone know the password?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, don't you two _read_?" She asked exasperatedly, throwing her hands in the air. Ron and Harry looked at her dully. "Of course you don't," she said in disgust. "What would you two do without me? Honestly, sometimes it feels like I'm the only one who takes my studies seriously. It states in chapter _one_ of _Hogwarts, A History_ that the password to the Headmaster's Office is set depending on the Headmaster's tastes. It's really quite fascinating, actually; the castle can sense certain habits or quirks about a person simply by – "

"Take your time, Hermione," Ron interrupted.

She broke off, blushing. "Right. Well, anyway, the point is that we don't _need_ a password since there _is_ no Headmaster." Looking smug, she pressed the flat of her palms against the door and pushed. It swung slowly inwards, revealing a staircase. "There. You see?"

Harry grinned, jogging up the stairwell. He tugged the huge doors open and gazed wordlessly at the huge room. Hermione and Ron were mercifully silent behind him until Ron finally muttered gruffly, "Doesn't feel quite right without him, does it?"

Harry shook his head, walking slowly to the center of the office. "Where did you say we'd find them?" He asked distractedly.

"The desk," Hermione supplied, pointing. "Second drawer."

Ron turned to her, blinking in surprise. "How do you _know_ that?"

"I _read_, Ron," she informed him, glaring, as Harry cautiously approached the huge wooden table.

"Read _what_?" Ron spluttered incredulously, "_Hogwarts: A Complete Guide to Stealing Rare Objects from the Headmaster's Office_?"

She rolled her eyes and retorted bitingly, "No, _Hogwarts: A Complete Guide to Not Being a Totally Incompetent Moron_."

But before Ron could defend himself, Harry exclaimed, "They're here!" Immediately, argument forgotten, his two friends rounded the desk and stared down at the immeasurably deep drawer. Harry's euphoria vanished at the sight of the stacks upon stacks of paper, hundreds of names on each. "So, uhm," he said meekly, "where should we start?"

---

Harry was nervous. He'd never been a good liar and didn't seem to be improving; pages upon pages (Hermione had wanted to take all of it, but Ron had managed to get it down to from Voldemort's seventh year at Hogwarts to last year) of the Hogwarts Student Lists were shrunken and stuffed into his back pockets (along with Hermione's purse and Ron's jacket pockets).

All around him he caught scattered conversations. Mostly it revolved around Dumbledore or Hogwarts or both, although Fred and George were quietly debating whether or not they wanted to name their latest product Moldy Warts or How to Make Your Friends Look as Ugly as the Dark Lord Himself, Just By Taking One Of These Tablets (George seemed to think that this last one was too long; Fred thought that people were idiots and a name like 'Moldy Warts' wasn't blatant enough) and Ron and Hermione were heatedly debating Hermione's choice of reading material.

He was about to make his excuses and Apparate to the Burrow – the Lists burned in his pocket, begging to be looked at – when Ginny suddenly appeared at his side. He eyed her warily, not wanting a repeat of the 'episode' at the wedding.

To his surprise, her eyes were red and blotchy; she'd been openly crying at the service. She continually clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides but stared straight ahead, jaw set as though determinedly ignoring him even as she decided what, exactly, she wanted to say.

"Could I speak to you for a moment, privately?" She asked finally, her voice shaking.

"Ginny…" But he let it trail off, not really protesting. He couldn't have said no, no matter how much he wanted to. Not when she was looking at him so desperately, in a way so un-Ginny-like.

For a moment he was afraid that _he'd_ done this to her before telling himself he shouldn't be so vain.

He allowed her to lead him away from the crowd and they stood in silence beside the lake for a few moments until she finally managed, "When are you leaving?" He looked over at her, startled. She rolled her eyes tiredly. "I'm not as stupid as you think I am, Harry. I know you and Ron and Hermione are planning to leave at some point. I'm not going to try to stop you – I just want to know how much time I have left." She smiled tiredly. "And anyway, you didn't unpack."

He shrugged, blushing as he realized his mistake. "We're not sure yet," he admitted, before suddenly jumping. "You can't come, Ginny."

She looked stung at his words. "Who says I was going to try?" She snapped, turning to face him. "Why the _hell_ would I want to follow you _anywhere_?"

Her sudden anger startled him and he took a step back, raising his hands in the air. "All right, all right, I'm sorry."

But this seemed to infuriate her more because she followed him, knuckles white as she balled her fists. "_Stop_," she ordered, her voice low.

"Stop _what_?"

"Stop _this_!" She flung her hands into the air. "_Talk_ to me!"

He shook his head, pushing her words out before they even entered his mind. "Don't, Ginny," he scolded. "Don't."

She shook her head, grabbing his hand. "Why?" She challenged. "What are you afraid of?" But he didn't say anything, simply set his jaw and turned away from her. She step back, loosing her hold on him. "Please don't do this," she begged. "Harry, please don't shut me out. You've finally let me in. So you don't want to be with me; okay. I can accept that. I don't understand why we can't be friends."

"It's not that I don't want to be with you," he corrected before he could help himself. "Don't think that."

She rolled her eyes. "If you wanted to be with me badly enough, Harry, you'd be with me. There's nothing stopping you."

It was a challenge, and he knew that. "Except for, say, _Voldemort_," he snapped, irked that she was fighting with him about something they both clearly thought was right. _She's just being contrary_, he told himself. _She needs someone to be angry at and I'm the best target_.

"Why do you let him dictate everything you do?" She cried, shaking her head. "You keep letting him take and take from you – "

"It's not like I can stop it!" Harry shouted then, finally letting her get under his skin. "You've seen what happened when I get close to people, Ginny, they _die_ – "

"Ron and Hermione haven't! My Mum hasn't! Lupin, Tonks, Neville, Luna – _I_ haven't!"

He shook his head, not believing what he was hearing. "My mum and dad, Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore – "

"Well, it is a _war_, Harry, people _die_ in _wars_!" She was shouting now, matching his pitch word for word. "It has nothing to do with _you_!" She paused. "Well," she allowed, "Maybe it has a _little_ to do with you, but … "

"There!" He cried triumphantly, stepping towards her. "You see? I'm just – I'm just trying to keep everyone safe, all right? Can you give me that?"

She didn't say anything, just studied him for a few moments before sighing. "Of course," she allowed, her voice dull before she looked at him again. "But you never answered me. Why are you so standoffish? Why can't we just be friends?"

"We are friends," he protested eagerly.

Her eyebrows migrated North. "Are we?" She asked dryly. She said nothing else for several minutes as he squirmed guiltily beneath her gaze. And before he could help it he was blurting, "Well – we never _were_ real friends, Ginny. It was never like that with us."

She blinked, clearly unsure if she was supposed to be offended. "What?"

"That came out wrong," he backpedaled, desperate to set it straight. This was a conversation he didn't want to be having; not now, when he was so close to leaving her behind. Still, he didn't want to leave her with the impression that he hated her. "What I meant was that we went from being casual friends to boyfriend and girlfriend without ever really having that step between."

Ginny stared at him wordlessly, clearly thinking over his words. Then she smiled sadly. "I guess you're right." For a moment he thought that would be the end of it – but then she was squaring her shoulders and setting her jaw. "I guess we'll just have to start now, then." She nodded, as though confirming this in her own mind.

"I want you to be safe," he told her, deciding that, for once, honesty was the best route to take. "I don't know or care what that means. I just … I want you to be safe."

She nodded. "Okay. I get that. Okay. But you can't keep pushing me away." She smiled at him. "Deal? I'll stay safe and we can be friends?" He grinned, still feeling as though there was more to say, sticking out his hand. She took it, offering up a small smile.

They stayed that way for a long time.

---

_6:00 P.M._

Harry settled down on Ron's bed, getting comfortable as he picked up a large stack of parchment and a highlighter that Hermione had supplied. Ron was still slightly afraid of the colored marker, so he chose instead to underline names with his quill.

"We'll split it up evenly," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "That way we each only have twenty years worth of students to worry about."

Ron's eyes bulged. "But – Hermione, that's several hundred students per year!"

She smiled sweetly. "You don't think you can do it?"

Harry shook his head with a grin as Ron, grumbling, grabbed several rolls of parchment from the pile.

---

_7:00 P.M._

"How far have you got?" Ron whispered from the corner of his mouth. Harry blinked, his eyes swimming. He gazed down at his paper dismally.

"I'm three-quarters through my first year," he told his friend tiredly. "You?"

Ron just shook his head, indicating vaguely that Harry had him beat by several scrolls. "D'you think it's almost dinner time?"

"Don't be stupid, mate," Harry said with a tired grin. "Hermione isn't going to let us eat until we're finished."

---

_8:00 P.M._

Harry blinked, names swimming before his eyes. He was several scrolls into his second year, and from the looks of it Ron had finished his first year as well. Hermione was probably already finished with ten or fifteen years of hers, he thought bitterly.

Ron looked up at him with a sympathetic wince before returning to the task at hand.

Harry's stomach growled.

"Don't even think about it," Hermione stated, before he could say anything.

---

_9:00 P.M._

Year two finished.

It was easier, after the first year, since he only needed to sort through the first years, instead of all of them. Still, it was going to take a full day to go through all these if they all took an hour.

On another note – and Harry couldn't decide if it was good or bad – he hadn't found any R.A.B.s yet. There was an R.B.A. and an A.B.R., but no R.A.B.

He shook his head, reaching for the first scroll of year three.

---

_10:00 P.M._

"How far along are you?" Ron whispered, prodding him with his quill. "I'm all the way up to year five."

Harry groaned. "I'm only at four," he muttered. "What about you, Hermione?"

She glanced up with a smile that managed to be both modest and smug at the same time. "Oh," she told them, "I've done seven."

---

_11:00 P.M._

Two years later, and three R.A.B.s. Harry had the full names written on a spare bit of parchment – with a glance, he saw that Ron had collected one and Hermione four. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, glancing at his watch.

_Five hours?_ He thought incredulously. _…This guy had _better_ have gone to Hogwarts._

---

_12:00 Midnight_

His eyelids were drooping. Harry pinched himself to stay awake; he _had_ to finish. He _had_ to.

The wizarding world depended on it.

With that in mind, he set to work with a frenzy – at this rate he'd be finished with three more years by one.

_---_

_1:00 AM._

"Hermione," Ron said tiredly, rubbing his face with his hand, "Don't you think that maybe we should take a little break?"

The mousy haired girl barely glanced up from the pages in her hand, clearly in her element. She highlighted a name on the parchment and said distractedly, "We're almost finished, Ron, we've only got – "

"Forty more years of students?"

She looked up at Harry's words, startled. "What?" She asked, frowning. "Are you sure? I feel like we've made so much progress…"

"Yeah, twenty years of it," Ron told her. "Which means we still have forty to go."

Hermione looked triumphant at this announcement. "Well, there you are. We're a third of the way finished."

---

_2:00 A.M. _

"That's it," Ron declared, throwing his quill down and standing. Hermione and Harry glanced up, startled. "I'm not doing _any more_ tonight."

Hermione frowned. "But Ron … we still have at least sixteen years to go!" The redhead shrugged.

"Hermione, this is _mad._ I'm tired, I'm hungry, my hand feels like it was just in the losing end of a fight with a steamroller, and my head is spinning from all the reading I've just done!"

He took a deep breath, very satisfied with himself. "Anyway," he finished, "I'm not doing any more tonight. I'm going to go downstairs and eat, and then come back up and go to _sleep_. If you two want to stay up … " He shrugged.

Hermione cast a helpless look in Harry's direction. "Harry," she implored.

He shrugged, indecisive. On the one hand, he wasn't totally mad and knew that he had to get some rest. But on the other, the longer he put this off the more people would _die._

It occurred to him, suddenly, that every single one of their deaths would be his fault.

He shuddered.

"I'll stay on a bit longer," he told her, frantically, reaching for some scrolls. "We've only got, what, thirty-something left?"

---

Harry woke the next morning a little unsure where he was. The ceiling swum in front of his eyes and his head pounded. Names wove in and out of his brain, checking themselves off as he tried to sit up.

"Harry?" Hermione's soft voice shook him awake. She was leaning over his worriedly. "Are you all right?"

He blinked, pushing himself onto his elbows. "What time is it?"

She brushed his hair out of his eyes and handed him a glass of water. "Nearly two o'clock. You've been asleep for hours."

"We need to unpack," he declared groggily, unsure where the words were coming from. "Ginny said."

Hermione looked amused. "All right, Harry. Are you even awake?"

"Not really," he admitted, taking a sip of the cold water. "How far did we get last night?" All at once, her smiled widened and she beamed at him.

"You did really well," she promised. "You went a full hour after Ron left before passing out. I let you sleep – well, actually, I tried to wake you up but you weren't budging." She laughed. "Anyway, I finished off the last twenty-five years or so."

Harry stared at her. "Geez, Hermione, how long were you up?"

She shrugged. "Without you two to distract me, I got them done relatively quickly – a few hours. It wasn't too bad."

He grinned, "You're incredible."

Hermione blushed, looking at her hands. "Thank-you. Anyway, Ron's downstairs eating lunch with the family. I told them that we were up really late last night and you'd probably sleep all day … of course, I'm sure they were imagining pillow fights and other such activities instead of doing homework."

"Maybe for you they didn't," Harry laughed. "Isn't doing homework your favorite activity?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, I'm also quite fond of taking tests and cleaning my room. It's a close tie."

Harry opened his mouth to respond as Ron burst into the room. "You're awake!" He cried cheerfully through a mouthful of food. "I brought you something." He tossed Harry a sandwich and plopped himself onto the bed. "Did you hear the news? Herm-Own-Ninny finished up the Lists!"

Hermione sighed impatiently. "Will you stop?

Ron shook his head, "Of course not. And you know what the best part of that name is? It's so easily shortened to just … Ninny!"

"Oh, hey, very mature." She cast a scathing glance in his direction. "And anyway, we have more important things to discuss. For example: together we found fifty R.A.B.s. I don't even know how to _start_ narrowing it down."

Harry held out his hand. "Give me the list you made," he said, waiting with hand outstretched as she walked over to the bedside table and pulled a slip of parchment out of the drawer. "Here." She tucked it into his waiting hand.

He scanned down the list and sighed. "Well – do we know any who died before the reign of Voldemort began? I mean, they can't have done it if they were dead."

"And it wasn't a Hufflepuff," Ron added, mouth full of food.

Hermione cast a glance at him. "What's wrong with Hufflepuffs?" She snapped.

Ron shrugged. "Nothing, but the hat sorts people into Hufflepuff who are loyal and kind-hearted. One of those people wouldn't ever join Voldemort." He sighed. "I'm not being mean, Hermione, it's just the truth."

She shrugged, opening her mouth to retort before Harry interrupted. "Look, we're all tired, I'm hungry, and I think maybe we need to take a break."

Hermione rubbed her eyes. "I need to have a nap," she told them. "Why don't you two go entertain yourselves for a few hours? We can big this up again once I feel better."

Ron glanced worriedly at her. "You do look sort of pale," he pointed out, his tone soft. "Do you want a Pepper-Up Potion or anything?"

Hermione shook her head. "No… I think a little bit of sleep should do it."

Harry stood, tucking his hands into his pockets. "All right. Well … sleep tight."

He and Ron left the room quietly as Hermione crawled into Ron's bed. Outside, the redhead stood dazedly staring at his door. Harry frowned. "Are you all right?"

Ron nodded, frowning a little bit. "Yeah," he muttered. "Just … thinking."

With a glance at the door, Harry didn't have to struggle too hard to determine what about.


	5. The Sudden Depth

**Chapter Five: In Which, Suddenly, The Characters Have Emotional Depth**

_For Opalish_

'_Cause she's sort of cool._

The Hogwarts Express was unusually quiet. Harry supposed he shouldn't be surprised; three months is a long time, after all. Time enough for parents to change their minds, time enough for raids and attacks and more than time enough for death.

He glanced over at his side bag, which has his mother's blanket tucked carefully inside. After he'd revived from his sort of … passed-out state, he'd gone more carefully through the box and found a folded piece of paper on the bottom. It had said the words "Happy Birthday" inscribed in his aunt's neat cursive scrawl, but the number had been scratched and re-written so many times that Harry could barely make it out. If he was right – and he wasn't entirely sure that he was – she had tried to give him the blanket almost twelve times.

Harry shook his head. The many sides of his aunt would never cease to surprise him.

"It's strange, isn't it?" He tore his mind from his thoughts and glanced up at Luna. She was settled happily in the corner, Quibbler in hand as usual. He thought that if anything was to stay the same during the past few months, it was fitting that it should be Luna. The rest of the occupants of the cabin – Ginny and Neville – turned to look at her; Ginny's expression was bare, but Neville looked as nervous as he always did whenever Luna spoke.

"What's strange, Luna?" Ginny asked, absently pulling out a small notebook and a quill. He blanched, watching her write the date above the words, _Dear Journal._ She noticed his stare and smiled a little sadly. "I'm the type of girl who needs one," she said simply, with a shrug.

Neville eyed her curiously, but Luna didn't seem to notice the exchange. "It's strange that Hogwarts has gotten so small over the span of ninety days." She frowned for a moment, and Harry prepared for a moment of solemnity, maybe even a community heart-to-heart. But then she brightened suddenly. "I suppose that means Gryffindor has an even better shot at Quidditch this year! That's great, just great," she said happily, before turning her mind back to the Quibbler.

Neville caught Harry's eye and a small smile cropped up at the corners of his face. "Fantastic," he said unenthusiastically to Luna, waving a finger in the air. "Ra-ra-Gryffindor." Harry paused, having never heard Neville make a sarcastic comment in his life. Ginny didn't seem thrown, though, and simply laughed.

"Right there with you, Nev," she told him, rolling her eyes playfully. "Of course, you know I'll drag you out to every single match so that you can cheer for me."

Neville smiled, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Like last year, you mean," he stated dully, dropping his head into his hands. "Spare me." Harry's stomach did an involuntary flip as he watched the exchange. It had never occurred to him that Ginny had friends outside of – well, him. It had never occurred to him that she had _male_ friends – friends that she dragged to Quidditch games and hugged afterwards, maybe she even kissed them on the cheek. Maybe she even let them get her a drink and fell asleep on their laps when she'd had too much of the spiked punch.

He had a sudden vision of Ginny, clothed in her Quidditch uniform, surrounded by adoring males. She was laughing heartily, her hand on Neville's arm, and smiling flirtatiously with all the blokes around while their girlfriends stood off to the side, fuming.

The realization hit him much the way that the Whomping Willow had in third year: he was jealous. Of Neville Longbottom.

The thought made him distinctly uncomfortable, and he focused instead on the scenery outside. He wondered how much longer the Prefect meeting was going to be, and which of the seventh-year Prefects had made Head Girl and Boy. Hermione was probably Head Girl, of course, or at least she would be if McGonagall had her head on straight. Head Boy though, puzzled him. He just couldn't imagine who it might be.

The glass opened with a slam. Hermione stood in the open doorway, fuming. Ron, amused, stayed a few paces behind her. Harry arched an eyebrow as she threw herself onto the seat beside Ginny, and the two girls began to whisper furiously. Ron seated himself a little more calmly beside Harry and murmured from the side of his mouth, "McGonagall didn't tell us who the Head Boy and Girl are."

Harry frowned. "Why not?"

Ron shrugged, taking his travel-chess from his pocket. "Why does McGonagall do anything? I swear, I think being barmy must come with the job description of Head-person around this place. Care for a game?"

Harry shrugged his agreement and settled himself down to lose.

---

By the time they arrived at Hogwarts, Hermione had calmed down a bit and was rationalizing McGonagall's decision to keep them in the dark until the banquet. "It's probably for a show of leadership," she was saying as the three of them stepped into a carriage (Ginny opted to travel with Luna and Neville, and Harry felt another uncomfortable twinge of annoyance at his year-mate). "You know, to impress the younger kids. I mean, it's the biggest award that a student can get, so obviously it should be sort of … flashy. Especially now, when leadership is so important, you know?"

Ron rolled his eyes, kicking his feet up to rest on her lap. "So, tell me the truth, 'Mione. How long ago did you write your acceptance speech?"

She glared at him, shoving his legs onto the floor. "Shut up," she snapped. "I have done no such thing." Harry and Ron exchanged the quickest of glances, but she caught it and told them both huffily that just because _she_ had earned some credit as a student and _they_ hadn't didn't mean that they had the right to torment her successes. "Not, of course, that I'm sure I'm going to get it," she hastened to add, blushing. "I just mean that I _am_ in the running, so of course I've _thought_ about it, is all."

By that time they'd arrived at the front gate and piled out onto the sidewalk. Harry stole a glance at the thestrals, which were snorting and impatiently pawing the ground. He smiled a little, at one, wondering idly if it was the thestral he'd ridden to the Department of Mysteries. They rejoined Neville, Ginny, and Luna on the way to the dorms. Ginny wore a pensive, almost dark expression, which upon seeing the three of them did not improve in the least. She was chewing her lip, something that Harry had learned was reserved for time of especially deep thought or the height of fury, when she was so angry that she couldn't even speak.

He wondered idly if _Neville_ knew what it meant before mentally slapping himself.

"Well, what time do you boys want to meet down here?" Hermione asked, pulling her trunk out of her pocket and examining it for any damage.

Ron shrugged, throwing himself tiredly onto the couch. "Ask me that in two days," he told her, shutting his eyes.

"You can't miss the banquet, Ron," she said shortly. "What if you're Head Boy? What would that say to the younger students?"

His eyes snapped open as though he'd never considered the idea before. "I – I couldn't be Head Boy," he told her slowly, blinking. "That makes absolutely no sense. Why would McGonagall do that?"

Harry grinned slowly as the thought took hold in his brain. "Why does McGonagall do anything, mate?" He asked. "Being barmy comes with the job description, remember?"

Ron rocketed to his feet, halfway up the stairs before Harry could even blink. "Well – just in case, we should meet around – say – six." Harry frowned, opening his mouth to point out that dinner didn't start until six-thirty, but Hermione elbowed him in the side, giving her head a little shake.

"Sure, Ron." She watched him disappear up the steps with a little grin and then said, "Six means that we'll actually be ready to go by around six-twenty. Please, Harry, this is _Ron. _Haven't you learned _anything_?"

He grinned. "Good point." He followed Ron's lead up the stairs, and vaguely heard Ginny say softly to Hermione, "You think he's got a shot?" before he opened the door to his new dormitory and stepped inside.

---

"What do you think?" Ron stood nervously in the center of the room, his school robes neat and tidy, hanging just a little too short on his tall frame. Harry arched an eyebrow from his bed.

"I think you look like you always do," he said honestly, standing and swiping the crumbs of sandwich from his shirt. "Can we go now?"

Ron glanced at the clock. "It's six-fifteen!" He squeaked, and then cleared his throat, embarrassed. "We're late," he said, slightly calmer. "Let's go."

To nobody's surprise, Hermione was already seated down in the Common Room. She was bouncing her leg up and down on the carpet, studying her watch every five seconds until noticing their descent. "Finally!" She cried. "You said _six_," she told Ron accusingly. "It is now six-_fifteen._"

He shrugged, also looking a little nervous. "Yeah, well, you know, I had things to do."

"Like change your robes _seven times_," Harry muttered under his breath. Ron's cheeks colored slowly and Hermione's mouth twitched, obviously forgiving him.

"Let's just go, all right?" Ron said hurriedly, walking so quickly that by the time they reached the Great Hall, Harry was nearly out of breath. They took their regular seats and Harry could barely focus on the sad state the school's population was in, the two of them were bouncing around so much. Still, it was hard not to notice – the Gryffindor table was more filled than the others, but Ravenclaw had almost a third missing, Slytherin hadn't fared much better, and Hufflepuff had lost a good half. There were maybe forty or fifty first years.

McGonagall stood, and abruptly everything stilled.

"For those returning, welcome back," she said slowly, her voice sharp as always. "And for those who have just begun their time with us, welcome." She seemed almost … nervous, addressing the students, and Harry couldn't help the small grin that fought against his lips. "Although the world outside is changing, I would like the student body to know that the world inside these walls will remain as it always has, with only very minor exceptions. All rules and regulations that have always applied still do – for you first years, there are lists of such things in your House dormitories. I recommend that you get a copy from the library and learn them well." She sent them her patented McGonagall-stare, and Harry knew with certainty that her advice would be taken in the promptest manner. "In regard to Quidditch … " here she paused, and Harry felt his stomach drop, knowing what was about to come. How could Quidditch continue? They'd dropped it until further notice.

He'd expected it.

"Over the summer, the other professors and I discussed the matter of its continuation. After many, very passionate, meetings, we have come to our final decision." She took a deep breath. "Quidditch will be suspended until further notice." There was a loud outcry from the students, but she held up a hand in such a Dumbledore-manner that it was instantly quieted. "I say this for good reason. It is obvious that, since your safety is our highest priority, we cannot continue the games outside. However, Quidditch is an integral part of this school, as well as recreation for hard-working students. In light of this, we are building a magical … dome of sorts around the Quidditch arena. Although this _does_ restrict the game, it is better than no Quidditch at all. We expect construction to be finished in a few weeks."

Harry felt himself burst into a grin and saw that Ron was doing the same. Loud whoops and cheers erupted, and McGonagall let them be happy for a few moments before raising her hand again. "On that note, I would like to wish you all the very best school year – have fun, work hard, and most importantly … be safe." She sat down to the applause and Harry watched the briefest moment of relief pass over her face before she turned stony once more.

---

"Well, _that_ was unexpect – " Ron began, plopping himself down on one of the great couches before a furious Hermione cut him off.

"I don't _believe_ it!" Both boys jerked to stare at her. "She didn't announce the Heads! I don't _believe_ this!"

Harry blinked, puzzled. Hermione was right – there had been no mention of the Heads at all. He frowned, more bewildered than anything else. Ron, however, was still on a high from the news about Quidditch that he just shrugged. Harry grinned – whatever might happen, at least Ron had his priorities straight. "Whatever," he said cheerfully. "What does it matter, anyway? You've _got_ it Hermione, everyone knows it."

"_I_ don't know it," she snapped. "And no one else does, either." She paced back and forth in front of the fireplace.

Ron rolled his eyes. "What are you getting yourself so worked up about? It's just some stupid title, Hermione."

Her eyes bulged at him. "Just some stupid _title_?" She hissed, and both boys knew that Ron had made a rather large mistake by undermining the authority of Head Person. "I have worked my entire Hogwarts _career_ for this _stupid title!_ Call it what you will, _Ronald_, but it is _more_ than just a title to _me._" She paused, before adding snidely, "And anyway, just because _you_ couldn't handle it doesn't give you the right to scoff at it."

Ron bristled, standing up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Guess," she snapped.

Harry sighed heavily, sitting awkwardly on one of the chairs, not liking the direction that his conversation was headed. "You know what?" Ron shook his head, his face crimson as he clenched and unclenched his fists. "Maybe I don't judge myself by what sort of _awards_ I get! Maybe I'm not such a _snob_ that I think that my worth in life is based entirely on some stupid _badge_!"

"Of course you wouldn't, because you're an entirely _different_ branch of snob!" She stepped towards him, prodding him forcefully in the chest. "You think that the things that _you_ happen to care about are the only important things in the world! You think that _you're_ hobbies are the only ones that are worth anything in this world! But you'd never even _pause_ to think that there are _other things_ that matter than Quidditch, chess, and – and – Lavender Brown!"

Ron blinked, momentarily thrown before laughing. It wasn't, Harry noticed, a particularly nice laugh. "Look who's talking, miss 'I'm-Sorry-that-I-Can't-Play-Chess-With-You-Right-Now, I'm-a-Little-Too-Busy-_Not_-Having-Any-Sort-of-Life'!" He sneered at her. "Sure, maybe Quidditch and chess aren't the only things in this world, but at least I _know_ that! They may be my favorite things to _do_ but they're not _all_ I do – I also, did you _know_, happen to have friends that I enjoy spending time with, and a bunch of now-second-years that I hang out with sometimes, because hey, they feel cool when there's an older kid who actually takes the time to know them. What about _you_, Hermione? Did you take the time to get to know any of the younger kids? Did you pause to think, hey, maybe those kids are lonely and scared, and it would make them feel good to think that someone older and cooler _cared_ about what they thought of the food, or their dorm rooms, or what their favorite game is?"

She opened her mouth to respond before shaking her head. "No, but – "

"_No._ That's _right._ And what about _friends_? What about all those people _outside_ of your little book-club-buddies? Huh? What about people that you just like to hang out with – people that _aren't_ me and Harry?" She didn't say anything and he nodded. "Yeah. There _aren't_ any. Because _you_ can't tear yourself away from your books and the friends that you think are _smart enough_ for you."

Harry shifted uncomfortably, surprised at how quickly the argument had flared up. Ron, he thought, had this stored in him for a very, _very_ long time. Maybe even for years, and it had just been getting out in very, very little bits but piling up so much faster that he wasn't really emptying it at all.

He stood, backing slowly towards the stairs as the shouting escalated. Hermione, now in tears – although weather it was because she was hurt or because she was so angry, he couldn't tell – was shrieking almost incoherently about how _sick_ she was of all the _fighting_ and she just had _enough_ of him and his stupid pig-headedness.

He was already halfway up before he noticed that Ginny was perched miserably at the top of the stair well. She smiled half-heartedly up at him, scooting over and making room for him to sit. "Isn't it great to be back?" She asked sarcastically, glancing in the direction of Ron and Hermione. "It isn't Hogwarts without the two of them going at it."

Harry offered a little shrug, tucking his hands into his pockets. "I guess not." He paused before asking carefully, "What were you so upset about earlier?"

She glanced at him in surprise. "You noticed?" She asked, before blushing. "Sorry – I didn't mean it that way." He shrugged, waiting patiently for her to continue. If he'd learned anything about Ginny, it was that she hated to be pushed, and the only thing to do to get her to talk was to wait. "I was just … thinking," she said slowly. "Remember, at Dumbledore's … thing, how we talked about you leaving?"

He nodded slowly, cocking his head at her. "Sure. What of it?"

"Well – when are you going?" He blinked, unsure if he was supposed to be insulted or not. "That came out wrong," she said quickly, before he could react. "I just meant that … I had thought you would leave before school even began. And I kept thinking – _tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow._ But the three of you hung around, and kept hanging around, and now we're here and I don't get it."

Harry frowned, suddenly realizing that she was right. The plan had been to leave right after Bill's wedding – but then things with Ginny had started going well, and he'd thought, _well, a couple of days._ And they'd fallen into their research and narrowing down who it could be – rather successfully, he thought – and soon the days were gone and it was almost September. None of them had really spoken about actually _leaving_, and then suddenly they were on the train to Hogwarts.

"I don't … know," he said honestly. "I guess … I guess we just never set a date, and then … "

She was looking earnestly at him. "You don't want to go, do you?" He studied his hands, not wanting to really have to answer that question. But she didn't say anything else and he knew that she had more patience than he ever would.

"Of course not," he said finally, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "But I have to."

Ginny didn't speak for a moment. "Are you scared?" She asked finally, her voice small. "And don't lie," she added sternly, shooting him a look. He didn't speak, choosing instead to stare down the steps and wish that he hadn't come up here at all. She sighed. "Fine, don't answer," she told him with a careless shrug. "I'm just asking because, well, I am." She smiled a little. "Scared, I mean."

An inaudible shout came from downstairs, and Harry was strangely grateful. He squirmed, wanting to get up and walk away. She sighed. "I'm telling you that in confidence," she said abruptly. "If you ever mention it to anyone again, you'll _truly_ feel the Wrath of Weasley Women."

Despite himself, he grinned a little. "Duly noted," he told her, and she swatted his arm. She was opening her mouth to speak when Ron abruptly interrupted them, storming up the stairs.

"She needs to get that _pole_ out of her _arse_," he informed them furiously as he pushed passed. Harry and Ginny watched him disappear into the seventh-years dormitory, where he would find Dean and Seamus (who were both, Harry thought, the perfect blokes to commiserate with, as Dean was sore over Parvati and Seamus had recently been dumped by Lavender). That thought startled him.

"I wonder where Neville is?" He said aloud.

"Oh, he's off at the greenhouses," Ginny said absently. He jerked to stare at her, biting the inside of his lip to keep from blurting, _What? Why – how do you know that?_

"That's … great," he grit out instead. She shot him a confused look, but didn't push the issue, instead standing up.

"Well, goodnight Harry," she said, awkwardly patting his head. "See you in the morning." She grinned in the direction of the dorms. "And good luck with The Prat."

He stared after her, concerned with the fact that he was more worried that she knew were Neville was then about his two best friends, one who was undoubtedly in tears and the other who had likely smashed all of his belongings and likely some of Harry's, too.

"Bugger women," he muttered.

---

The next morning, he woke slowly. Ron was still in a sour mood, Dean and Seamus had already gone, and Neville was cheerfully neatening his bed. Harry glared at his back, unconsciously willing him to trip or something.

Ron waited for him at the door. "Are you coming, or what?" He snapped. Harry sighed, grabbing his books from his bed and nodding, checking quickly under his pillow to make sure his blanket was still there. He felt sort of stupid, having a blanket, but at the same time, it was different than some sort of – of _blankie_, like the one that Dudley'd had 'till he was thirteen. It was his last gift from his mother.

Part of him wished that she'd left him something a little more manly, like a t-shirt.

He felt guilty thinking that, though, and quickly buried the thought in his mind. He had more important things to worry about, he told himself, than whether or not he was _manly_. Still, he couldn't help but notice that _Neville_ didn't have a blanket.

He growled, annoyed at himself, and felt his mood sour almost as darkly as Ron's. The two found Hermione waiting in the common room as usual, but Ginny was missing. "She went ahead with Neville to meet Luna," Hermione explained shortly, and Harry's grip on his side-bag tightened considerably.

Halfway through breakfast, he brought up the topic that had been bothering him all night. "We need to figure things out," he announced between bites of eggs. Ron grumbled incoherently and Hermione took a dainty sip of water. He lowered his voice, "About the Horcruxes."

"Yes, Harry," Hermione said patronizingly, and he told himself to stay calm because she was still angry at Ron. "That's easier said than done."

He rolled his eyes. "Well, we have to get a move on. We can't hide out in Hogwarts forever, waiting for the knowledge to suddenly appear."

Hermione shifted guiltily. "All right, you're right," she admitted, speaking directly to him and ignoring Ron completely. She paused, biting her lip. "Listen, Harry … " she took a deep breath. "I was thinking … "

"What a surprise," Ron muttered.

She shot him a glance, but other than that didn't rise to the bait. "I was thinking," she continued, "that maybe … " she took a deep breath.

"Out with it, Hermione," Harry said flatly.

"I was thinking that maybeweshouldenlistGinny'shelp." There was a heavy pause in which Harry pretended to consider it.

"No." It was Ron who'd spoken this time, but Hermione continued to ignore him.

"It makes sense, Harry," she pressed. "Ginny's smart – one of the best in her year, if she'd bother to apply herself a bit more. And she'd bring a fresh point of view. Besides, you know as well as I do that she'll find out what we're up to eventually. We might as well make it on our terms, so that we can let her know what we want to and keep the rest secret."

Harry paused. It sounded so … un-Hermione-like to suggest lying at all, especially to one of her best friends. "No," Ron said again. "I don't want her involved."

"Well, it's a little late for _that_," Hermione spat. "She's already involved. At least this way she would be _helpful_ and involved."

Ron turned to her finally. "And how is she involved? She's not dating Harry anymore, she's not a member of the Order, You-Know-Who doesn't even know that she exists. In what world does that spell 'involved'?"

Hermione pursed her lips. "Except that he _does_ know that she exists, because he _possessed her._"

"His _diary_ possessed her," Ron corrected shortly.

"Yes, and he was _part_ of his diary. He _knew_ that he was possessing her when it happened, Ron. When you drop your _soul_ into something, you tend to keep _track _of it. And anyway, you can't just … _cut out_ a piece of your soul. You can still feel it. He knows what's happening to all of his Horcruxes – he even knows that some of them have been destroyed. That's why his attacks are getting more brutal and frequent. He's getting scared."

It was delivered in such a flat tone that Harry blinked at her. He hadn't considered that Voldemort would _know_ what was happening to his Horcruxes. Ron looked suddenly sick. "So he – he knows about Ginny? He knows that she – she helped to destroy a part of his soul?"

"She's a threat to him, Ron," Hermione said, almost gently considering that she clearly still hated every hair on his head. "The least we can do is to keep her educated."

Harry bit his lip. "Look, if you can find out a way to get her input without telling her everything, then that's fine. But Ron is right. Ginny … Ginny should stay out of it."

Hermione studied him for a moment, her stare penetrating. "You know," she said quietly, "Neither of you tried to protect _me._" She gathered her things and stood, marching meaningfully from the table.

Harry had the feeling that her words had some sort of deeper meaning – the problem was that he had no idea what it was. Ron turned to him with a shrug, stuffing a sausage into his mouth. "I told you she was mad," he said.

---

**A Brief Interlude**

Hermione found Ginny in the library, deep in discussion with Luna. She took a seat patiently beside the blonde and waited the conversation out, until Luna decided that she had to write a letter and Ginny turned her attention to the brunette.

"All right?" She asked carefully, seeing her friend's pensive look. Hermione played with her hands for a moment, not saying anything for a few moments.

On the one hand, she _knew_ she was right. She _knew_ it. The boys were just being pigheaded and loving, in that weird, round-about-way that they had. Ginny was Ron's little sister, his only sister, and Harry's first _real_ girlfriend/the girl he still _obviously_ fancied.

On the other, she'd never done anything _quite_ this … underhanded before, and she knew that if either boy _ever_ found out, she'd be in more trouble with them than she ever had before. Even maybe, she knew, to the point of no return.

The question was: what was more important? The lives of millions, or her friendship?

She was troubled that this was such a difficult choice.

"There's something that I need to tell you," she said slowly, feeling her stomach knot. "Ron and Harry don't know I'm doing this, and they don't want me to. Ginny," she grabbed her hand across the table. "They can't _ever_ know about this, okay? _Never._"

Ginny frowned, her expression unreadable. Then she shrugged. "Okay," she said simply.

"In that case," Hermione said, taking a deep breath, "I – _we_ – need your help…"

---

Hermione, Harry noted with some concern, looked almost … happy. It wasn't that he wasn't glad she was feeling better, of course, only that her happiness had a sort of … _smugness_ to it that made him nervous.

Ron was examining the locket, frowning in consternation. "This is so … _familiar_," he said slowly.

"Of course it is," a new voice said as Ginny placed herself beside Hermione. Ron and Harry scrambled to hide the paperwork, but Hermione just sat back against the couch. Ginny arched an eyebrow but didn't challenge them. "That's the locket that was in your room the summer when we stayed at Grimmauld Place."

Harry froze. "…What?" He asked, his voice quiet.

Ginny arched an eyebrow, clearly confused. "You don't remember?" She asked. "It was in Ron's dresser drawer. I found it when I was looking for a shirt." She paused. "I thought it was his – I was going to tease him about it." She shrugged. "I guess I never did."

Ron shook his head slowly. "No," he told her, "You didn't."

Harry leaned forward eagerly. "Think, Ginny. You're _sure_ this is the locket?"

She nodded, leaning away from him. "Of course I'm sure," she said irritably. "Why? What's the big deal?"

Hermione opened her mouth, but Harry silenced her with a glare. She rolled her eyes at him, shaking her head. "No reason," he lied. "It's, uhm – or rather, _was_ my mother's."

He didn't know where the lie had come from, and he felt himself stiffen. He'd never lied to anyone before, not this smoothly and intentionally. Ginny was eyeing him strangely and then asked, her voice low, "She had two of the exact same necklace?"

He winced, and that smug look overcame Hermione once more. "No," he said, and struggled to find an answer. "Uhm…"

Ginny stood, abruptly, shaking her head. "Whatever," she snapped, her voice harsh. "If you aren't going to tell me the truth, don't tell me anything. Good luck with your stupid necklace."

She stalked off, and Hermione shook her head disgustedly. "Well done," she snapped at him, and he felt suddenly as though any lingering anger that she'd felt towards Ron – neither had apologized, but the argument had somehow been put in the past anyway – had shifted onto him. "_Really_ well done, Harry."

He looked away, not really having an answer. Ron was grinning, though. "Well, this is perfect! We know where it is!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Sure, but how do we _get it_?" We can't just … leave."

Ron arched an eyebrow. "Why not?" He asked cheerfully. "We've done it before." She paused, scrambling for words.

"It's – it's different now," she said.

"How?"

"It's – we're – well – it just _is_, okay?"

And then, very abruptly, she began to cry.

---

**Author's Notes:** Well, this is unbeta'd because I haven't updated this story in, uhm, forever, so I'll be fixing it soon. But I had an Attack of the PA today and wrote so much that it seemed stupid to wait to put it up.

Anyway, REVIEW:D


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